


hallowed moon, hollowed sun

by nayt0reprince



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Additional Tags to Be Added, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Lore Building, Medium violence, Multi, PATH Quadrant Focus, Slow Burn, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2019-11-27 08:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18192236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nayt0reprince/pseuds/nayt0reprince
Summary: orsterra, city of the gods, enjoyed a relative peace for over 1,600 years.that was about to change.





	1. the charitable

**Author's Note:**

> so. this fic is a wombo-combo of all my favorite things: the Gays, modern-day fantasy, alfyn greengrass, h'aanit, and world-building. i am kind of winging it here, as it is multi-chaptered, but I will not rest until this thing is done bc it's literally all I can think about. it's a fic to combat my writer's burnout. and so! please enjoy, and lemme know what you think!

_“And thus, after the skies torn asunder and the guardian stars slain, Galdera fell from the Heavenly Court’s good graces. His decayed body fell through the remaining celestial bodies, and was thus banished into the After World - as Aelfric so decreed._

_‘I will be back,’ he cried before the Gates closed. ‘Do not forget me. Let my name not fall into obscurity, for you will need it to scream my praises the day I slay you, one by one by one. I_ will _be back!’”_

_-Trial of the Twelve, Vol. VII_

***

Sprawling across eight massive districts, most citizens slept the night well within Orsterra’s city boundaries - sans one notable exception. 

The tricky serpent dove into the sewer system, its hisses echoing off the old stone walls. Its green spittle marked its trail along the cement path. Given the bones tucked away in darker corners, the snake must have made its home there ages ago. When it became ravenous, Alfyn could only guess; he caught glimpse of the telltale bloodshot eyes before it darted away into the depths. Animals exposed to natural elements never contracted such a disease on accident. 

It had to be on purpose, then.

Blame could be sorted out later, though. He pressed his shoulder into the wall as he tiptoed over the gooping poisonous spit. A sliver of the drool dribbled into the waste stream, and the water fizzed upon contact. To think _this_ was the crap surging through Nina’s veins right now. He bit his bottom lip. The walls vibrated from the sparse dawn traffic overhead, drivers unaware of the nightmares lurking beneath them. If he couldn’t catch this thing tonight, who knew how many more kids could get bit?

The sewer vein forked. Alfyn paused, gripping his satchel’s strap. Both ways were dimly lit, the sparse lights flickering. The serpent’s trail stretched thin into borderline unseeable. He needed a pure sample unsullied by the dregs of the sewers to treat Nina, so he couldn’t afford to lose the damn thing _now._ He gritted his teeth. To make matters worse, the snake had home-field advantage. Even if Alfyn chose the right way, it could sneak up on him at any moment. Why did he decide to come alone again?

(“Oh, Alfyn, what am I to _do_ with you?” His exasperated mother shook her head as she smoothed the bandage on his scraped knee. “You’re always thinkin’ of others, sure, but can ya promise me to practice some self-preservation before ya dive into the river?”

“But the cat would’ve _drowned,_ ” he protested. 

“So could’ve you, if ya hit the current just right.” She sighed. “Just promise me to take a friend with ya next time on your little adventures, okay?”

“Awright, I promise, I promise.”)

He had a legitimate excuse this time. For one, it was stupid o’clock in the morning - Alfyn himself would’ve been asleep otherwise. For two, Zeph refused to budge from Nina’s side while using temporary medicines to alleviate her pain. But four eyes were better than two, and who knew what _else_ claimed the sewers to be home? 

Well, he would figure it out if anything happened. Doubting himself now would just secure Nina’s impending demise. Digging his heels into the ground, he propelled himself over the sewage river and landed on the opposite bank with wobbling aplomb. Inklings of the snake’s trail resumed on the right-hand side, so, to the right he would go.

According to Nina, the snake was “bigger” than Alfyn. Not only was the poor thing infected, but _mutated._ Someone really went out of there way to torture an animal and make it into a horror story. An awful stench grew stronger the further he wandered through the tunnel, almost causing him to gag a few times. Ahead, the path opened into a large domed room - probably a place for sewer workers to set down supplies - and there awaited his formidable opponent.

Bathed from dawn’s early light pouring in from an overhead grate, the serpent bore a beautiful pattern along its scales: greens mingled with purples in the shapes of diamonds. Shame he had to put it down. He slowed his approach, hand reaching for the makeshift axe strapped to his back. Zeph suggested bringing a weapon, and all Alfyn had was the almost-rusted keepsake of his Mum’s trusty woodcutting tool. Compared to the unhinged jaws of the monster, it was clear which had the scarier bite between the two.

But _he_ had the advantage of one semester’s worth of veterinary practice from maybe three years ago or so before dropping out of college. So really, who should be the one shaking in their boots?

He stepped into the room after setting his satchel down by the entrance. A stilled anticipation hung heavy in the air. The snake coiled up, its elongated tongue flitting into the air every few seconds. Any wrong movement could be Alfyn’s last; his opponent could cross the distance between them with just one lunge and swallow him up like a teenager scarfing down leftover pizza. He pressed his back against the wall, feeling the weight of the axe in his hands. The axehead was probably too small to finish it in one blow, meaning he needed to land _two_ consecutive hits. Unless he hit it smack-dab down the center of its snout, which meant getting _really_ close to those big, shiny chompers.

How Nina even managed to escape surprised him. Talk about a tough girl. She dragged herself back home with a bleeding leg and pumped full of poison. She really was Zeph’s little sis.

“Here, big guy.” Alfyn shifted his stance. “Here, buddy. Lemme put you out of your misery, ‘kay? It won’t take long, promise ya.”

A beat passed. Neither moved. 

Alfyn’s grip tightened around the axe’s shaft, and the serpent lurched forward, a snarl bellowing from its gaping mouth. He tumbled to the ground, shoulder becoming coated in what only the Gods knew. Scrambling to get up, he narrowly avoided a large chomp aiming for his midsection. The two danced in a frenzy of who could hit first - Alfyn rolled away from the tail trying to snap at his legs to trip him up, and the snake darted from the axe’s path to split its body in two. A pause. Alfyn sucked in a sharp inhale, feeling his shoulder throb. The snake nursed a narrow cut grazing its scales, its eyes narrowing in anger.

He knew then he needed a miracle.

It lashed out, its tail firing like a whip and striking him blindly against his stomach. The impact knocked him flat on his back, stunned, and the wretched creature defied physics when it propelled itself into the air. It arched gracefully, almost in slow-motion, before turning its head at an angle to swallow Alfyn up in one gulp. He reached for his axe, hoisting in up in some feeble attempt for protection, and squeezed his eyes shut.

_I shoulda listened to Ma._

A prayer whistled through the air, followed by a small spurt of liquid splashing onto his cheek. The bite never came; just an pained, feral hiss growing quieter. Alfyn cracked his eyes open, then sat up, scurrying back against the wall in confusion. Another whistle, then a third in rapid succession, accompanied by flashes of metal pelting the snake’s eye. It writhed, body jerking across the ground. 

Now was his chance. He steeled his resolve and lunged, axe shuddering as it dug into the back of the snake’s head. The monster froze, hiss dying on its lips, and Alfyn swung again. The axe’s shaft snapped in two on its second swing, but the end result proved worth it: the head rolled off the rest of the twitching body. 

It was over.

He exhaled slowly, adrenaline buzzing through his veins. He should’ve died there. He _should_ have, but he didn’t. His hand reached for his satchel’s handle, only to come up empty. Oh, right. He left it by the entrance.

“Darest hunten by thyself?”

A woman’s deep voice snapped him out of his dazed reverie. His head turned toward the tunnel, only to become alarmed upon seeing an enlarged white _cat_ step into the room. Since when could cats talk? Its icy gaze pierced him, and his feet turned to lead, keeping him in place. A moment later, a woman - tall, clad in furs that barely hid her large muscles - followed, carrying Alfyn’s satchel in one hand and a bow in the other.

“Um,” he eloquently replied, eying the cat. 

“Linde,” she offered. The cat sat down, licking its paw. She tossed Alfyn his satchel. “H’aanit. Thou are?”

What an accent! Sure, Alfyn had an accent that made people cast second glances, but hers was next level. He didn’t know anyone who dressed like she did in the Riverlands district, so she must have come from somewhere else. What was she doing _here,_ then? “Alfyn Greengrass, at your service. Thanks for saving my butt back there. I would’ve been snake food without your help.”

He knelt down beside the snake’s head before pulling on some gloves and popping open a few empty glass bottles. The woman, H’aanit, watched him, expression betraying nothing. Tough crowd.

“Thou didst fight with courage.” She walked over to the head and pulled out the arrows riddling its eye. She looked them over and discarded one of them before sheathing the other. “Tis late for an alchemist to walken these parts.”

“Aw, nah, not an alchemist.” He finished collecting the samples and screwed the bottles shut tight. “Just an apothecary in a _bit_ of a hurry.” 

He stood up and offered her a grin. With this, he’d be able to save Nina, no problem. He headed back toward the tunnel, only for H’aanit to grab his shoulder.

“Stop,” she ordered. “Thou canst goen alone. Beasts like he runnen free though here.”

The cat - Linde - rose and sauntered ahead of them, sniffing the air. A purr of approval, and H’aanit nodded, gesturing for Alfyn to proceed. Having an experienced monster hunter like her soothed his nerves more than he thought. Well, at least she _seemed_ like a monster hunter. She dressed the part, for sure. And not anyone could just tame a big kitty like Linde.

They walked through the corridors in a stifling silence. Between the echoes of their footsteps, the gurgles of the slow-moving stream beside them, and the occasional purrs from Linde, nothing sounded amiss. He fidgeted with his satchel’s strap. Almost _too_ quiet. 

“Isn’t it late for someone like yourself to be down here, too?”

His newfound guardian said nothing at first. She leapt across the stream, then motioned for Alfyn to follow. “The beast I now seeken skulks at night,” she replied as she helped him get stable footing. “I chasened one down here and followened all night, but quick t’was.” 

“So it wasn’t the snake?”

“Nay. This creature looken human.” She eyed him. “Haven thou heardst the stories?”

He scratched the back of his head in thought as they drew closer toward the marked steel ladder. He loved stories - everyone had one - but he heard nothing about monsters looking like humans. “Can’t say I have.”

She nodded, as if unsurprised. “Word has’t not did spreade this far, then. I hath been passing through on mine owneth duties at which I hearde. Abductions. Corpses, did sucketh dry to nothing but skin and bones. Eyes red liketh autumn’s moon.” 

She fell silent for a moment as they watched Linde adjust her weight on her hindquarters before leaping an impossible distance back through the opened manhole. H’aanit nodded to the ladder, and Alfyn hurried to climb up, ready to leave the horrid stench of piss and whatever else behind. 

The barren road greeted them with swaying lavender bushes and the first of the spring peepers croaking hellos to the coming sun. Several hundred feet away, Alfyn spotted Zeph’s window still lit. Poor guy probably didn’t get any sleep. He turned back to H’aanit, who scratched the backs of Linde’s ears.

“Mine own prey is not here,” she said, gaze shifting to the distance. She sealed the manhole shut. “Taken care of yourself on thy way backen home. And doth not hunte by yourself, even if Draefendi Herself watched over thee this day.”

“Huh? You’re leaving? Already?” The sun wasn’t even up yet. “Didn’t you say you were huntin’ for that thing all night? Ain’t you tired? You can get some sleep back at my place, if you want.”

“Resting is for they who hast the time.” She offered a smile tinged with anxiousness. “But I thanken thee for thy offer. Should our paths crossen againe, I hopen to meete on better circumstances.”

With that, she walked away. Alfyn still had many questions he wanted to ask, but she seemed busy, much like himself. If she ever stopped by Clearbrook again, he’d have to make her dinner as a proper “thank you” for saving his life. Another day.

Samples in tow, he hurried back to Zeph’s house. His shoulder still hurt, but she was right - luck really was on his side for him to make it back alive. He could hear his mum chastising him from the heavens now. _What good would it’ve been for_ that _man to have saved you as a kiddo if ya died there, eh?_

Right, right. He knew. He shook his head and pushed aside Zeph’s door, giving his best reassuring grin.

“I’m back,” he announced, and Zeph - his best friend since forever, a man who’s concoctions gave Alfyn’s a run for his ale - never looked so relieved in his life.

The sun, at long last, peered over the horizon.

***

Clearbrook Road, aside from hugging along the river, had little to its name - not even a street sign ever since some rowdy kids knocked it down a few years ago. Several houses, all in varying levels of disrepair, dotted the dead-end loop in uneven spaces. Every neighbor knew each other, whether they liked it or not, and nobody ever wandered there on happenstance. Aside from a small rinky-dink tavern and a smaller grocery shop, it was otherwise a forgotten facet within the Riverland District.

Yet Alfyn loved it all the same. He knew the two-mile road like the back of his hand, and all its peculiar inhabitants. Mr. Robinson loved drinking and fishing stories. Ms. Hawthorne smoked two packs a day and swore like the best of them, but she doted on her three cats like her own children. Mrs. Daly and her overly sweet blueberry pies. Most residents on Clearbrook aged well into their fifties, meaning there was always _something_ for him to do to keep his skills up to snuff. The major hospital was too far away and a tad pricey, so the residents depended on him and Zeph to keep them hale and hearty.

Today, though, proved to be the most challenging case he ever had. Freshly-ground noxroot leaves boiled together with Dohter’s blessed grape juice and purifying dust. Alfyn held the poison sample over the pot, waiting. Waiting was the worst part of this job; if he poured it in before the elixir turned purple, he would ruin the whole medicine. Nina’s wet coughing and whimpers begged for relief _now,_ which didn’t help any. Neither did Zeph’s pacing.

“Eat somethin’,” Alfyn suggested. “You got energy bars in the cupboard.”

“Sorry.” Zeph leaned against the kitchen sink, foot tapping against the floor. “Worried. You know how it is.”

“Sure do. That’s why you need to eat something. It’ll help, I promise ya.”

Behind him, Alfyn heard the cupboard door open and close, followed by the telltale sound of a wrapper wrinkling. A few crunches later: “So was it true? The snake being as large as she said?”

“Bigger, I’d say.” The mixture bubbled into a darker hue as Alfyn dumped the sample in. The liquid hissed, fizzed, and then simmered. “Strong enough to break Mum’s axe. I had help takin’ it down.”

He stirred, once, twice, before turning off the stovetop and hurrying over to the prepared strainer. Zeph swallowed, eyebrow raised.

“Help?”

“Yeah.” Alfyn pulled down a mug - Nina’s favorite with a big cartoon skunk holding flowers - and poured the medicine into it. “Looked like a monster hunter pulled straight out of a picture book. She had this big ol’ cat, too. You should’ve seen it. She came to the rescue right when I thought I was a goner. But I’ll tell ya more in a sec - can you get the door to Nina’s room for me?”

It worked. Within a few glugs, the haunting paleness sunk deep in Nina’s face almost vanished. Color returned to her cheeks, and her raspy breathing came out easier, calmer. Within minutes, her long night came to an end with peaceful, much needed rest. Alfyn monitored her symptoms for the first critical hour - temperature, vitals, any odd discolorations - but all signs pointed to a healthy and impending recovery. Give or take a week, he expected to hear her running around again with two new snakebite scars on her leg to show-off during show and tell at school.

He ran a hand through his shaggy hair. Thank the gods.

Zeph, revitalized by Nina’s condition, took it upon himself to make breakfast. The coffeemaker sputtered as sunnyside eggs crackled on the frying pan. The toaster ticked, dinged, and Alfyn found a plate with two slices bread smeared with raspberry jelly on them in front of him.

“Your turn,” Zeph said, winking.

“Shucks, thank you.” He scarfed the toast down in maybe four or five gobbles; pulling an all-nighter was more energy consuming than he thought. 

“Never thought I’d hear the day of a hunter coming this far south, though.” Zeph set down two mugs with piping-hot coffee onto the table, followed by the eggs. “What brought her to this neck of the river?”

“Something ‘bout human-looking monsters.” _Eyes red liketh autumn’s moon._ The phrase struck a chord in him, lingering in the back of his mind. “She must’ve been goin’ towards Saintsbridge and took a wrong turn to get all the way down here, though.”

Zeph’s fork clinked against his plate. “Never heard of anything like _that_ before. You sure she wasn’t just a nutty professor role-playing or something?”

“No professor _I’ve_ ever seen had a cat the size of two Froggins by their side.”

“You know, though, now that I think of it?” He slurped up the yolk and wiped the juice off with his sleeve. “There’s been more sightings of the Gods in all the districts. Was the talk of the town when I picked up supplies on Saintsbridge Ave. And with the increase in monsters, like that snake? We never had monsters come _this_ close to our homes before. I wonder if somethin’ _big_ is going on, you know?”

Orsterra, being the largest human settlement in the world, had the blessing of the Gods to thank. Beyond city walls, living on the “outside” was even more treacherous than inside. Outside, monsters prowled with careless abandon, and many parts of the world remained undeveloped as a result. Orsterra housed eight districts, each featuring their own climates to acclimate humanity’s varying needs, and each district had a God that watched over them. Monsters still roamed, but to a lesser degree and with their strength hampered by the Gods’ influences. Anyone versed in basic magics or fighting styles could traverse to (almost) anywhere in Orsterra.

Having lived in the Riverlands District for twenty-one years, though, Alfyn still never saw a God with his own two eyes - not even Dohter, the Charitable. He supposed the gods had better things to do than check on a backwoods hick road. He wondered for a moment if H’aanit ever saw one in her hunts.

Alfyn shrugged. “Maybe,” he replied at last.

“You seem distracted.”

“Oh. Do I? Sorry.” He gave a sheepish laugh. “I was just thinkin’ about that hunter. She must’ve seen a lot, y’know? Of the world and stuff.” 

Zeph collected the dirty dishes and placed them in the sink. “You got that _tone_ in your voice, Alfyn.”

“Huh?”

“The one where you wanna do somethin’ reckless and spur of the moment. The same one you get whenever you think a drinking contest against Mr. Robinson is a _good_ idea, and _I_ have to talk you out of it.” Zeph shook his head. “You’re thinking about traveling, aren’t you?”

Was he? Alfyn grew rigid in his seat. Traveling had a certain ring to it, a pleasant feeling spreading to his fingertips. Meeting H’aanit and Linde sparked an itching curiosity that made him antsy. But he couldn’t just _leave_. This was home, no matter how small it seemed. What about all the people who depended on him here? Besides, all he had for transportation other than his own two feet was his Mum’s old rusted clunker truck, which sat in the driveway idle ever since her death. It risked breaking down at any second (or exploding - it gave a death rattle every time he stuck the keys into the ignition). 

At the same time, the possibilities of finding new treatments throughout Orsterra to bring back home was incredibly tempting. Roads like Clearbrook, being small and off to the wayside, was isolated and several years behind to rest of the city. He wanted to help everyone more than he could now - and he couldn’t do that by standing still forever.

“Alfyn.” Zeph patted his shoulder and squeezed. “Before you go chasing after your newest passion project, take a bath and catch a few Z’s, yeah? You’ve been up all night.”

Exhaustion, which precariously dangled over Alfyn by a thin thread of adrenaline, finally splashed over him upon hearing Zeph’s words. His body drooped, tension draining from his shoulders and pooling onto the kitchen floor. 

“Shucks. You sure know me best, huh?”

“You can crash in my room, if you want.” Zeph jabbed a thumb towards the hall. “I’m gonna be up for awhile longer to check on Nina.”

He shook his head. “You’re probably gonna crash later too, knowing you. I feel like I can sleep for ten hours or so, and there’s absolutely no way I’m lettin’ you sleep on your own couch.” With a grunt, he pushed himself to stand. “If anything goes wrong, I’ll come running.” 

“I know you will.” An appreciative smiled flickered across Zeph’s face. “See you tomorrow?”

“Don’t you know it. Thanks for breakfast.”

“Anytime, Alf.”

Morning graced the Riverlands with bountiful blue skies and barking dogs. He smiled at Peppermint, who came yipping at his heels, followed by an exasperated Ms. Nettle. Her daughter always wanted a Pomeranian, and this one had to be the most energetic little guy in the whole world. He gave her a wave when she ushered Peppermint along for their walk.

Could he really leave all this behind for awhile? The familiarity and warmth clung to him like a cozy handmade sweater. He fumbled with his his house keys and pushed open the front door, where nothing but silence awaited him. Mum’s jacket hung on the unused rocking chair. Old medical texts spread across the shoddy coffee table, adorned in gratuitous sticky notes. His dinner from last night, abandoned upon hearing Nina’s affliction, still sat on the table, cold.

He swallowed thickly. Closed his eyes. Her absence was still palpable. No wise-cracking jokes over a cup of joe. No hair ties scattered all over the place. No dirty boots by the door, coated in mud from a relaxing day of fishing.

(“That’s the third rod you’ve snapped in a month,” he’d comment.

“You know what they say, Alf!” She’d grin from ear-to-ear while plopping her large cooler of fresh catches onto the counter. “Gotta catch ‘em when they’re hopping! Can’t just _scale_ back when my streak’s hot. Get it? _Scale_ back? ‘Cause fish got--”

“Please, Mum, you’re killing me.”)

She would urge him to go. _You wanna follow your hero’s footsteps, don’tcha?_

_Go on, then._

He covered his half-eaten dinner and placed in in the fridge. He took a quick shower to scrub the grime off - his shoulder blossomed black and blue, that would hurt come tomorrow morning - before dragging his feet back to his unmade bed. With a whump, he all but collapsed onto the mattress.

The truck needed work. He didn’t know of any reliable (or affordable) mechanics in the Riverlands. He could probably get to the Cliftland District and see if anyone there could help him out, but those _hills…_ Would the truck even make it over them? Maybe the Woodlands then. But he would for certain get lost, and given the levels of environmental protections they had, he doubted they would even _allow_ the truck in.

Cliftlands it was. He could make it work that long. Maybe. He didn’t know if anyone would barter medical components for mechanical work, but it was worth a shot. Eyes heavy, his thoughts muddled into half-formed ideas about travelling as sleep claimed him.

He could figure out his future in the morning.

***

(During recovery from a sickness that nearly claimed his life, Mum recounted stories - fantastical fables, each following the footprints of the Gods and their heroes. His favorite ones were the origin tales, particularly Dohter. Dohter walked the earth to provide humanity with means to combat diseases as a way to stave off the Dark One’s cunning tactics to harvest more souls for their personal gain.

“But, Mum,” he asked as she brought his soup, “what about the Dark One? What made them so mean?”

She handed him a spoon while humming in thought. After a moment, she shrugged. “I dunno, kiddo. Sometimes people ain’t got a reason to be cruel. They just _are.”_

He disagreed with his mother in rare cases. Most times, he followed in her footsteps in her ideologies. But people being inherently cruel with no rhyme or reason? He couldn’t follow that logic. It never sat right; not then, not now.

Now?

Reality shifted. The bedroom, filled with warmth and the salty smell of chicken noodle soup, caved into a never-ending pit. His hands scrabbled for purchase, only to catch _empty._ The empty stretched into infinity, swallowing up his shouts and spitting them into the uncaring void.

At last, his hand caught something. Wood. An axe. The blade needed to be sharpened, and the shaft was crude and unpolished. As he inspected the axe with startling clarity, the landscape of empty shifted; blacks became muted reds and purples, the cold became unbearably hot, and—

An eye, red like autumn’s moon, stared back at him. It hovered in the shadows cast by the flickering flames. Laughter peeled off the cavern walls around him, its reverberations shaking him to his core. A gangly, gnarled hand jutted out from the shadows, pulling the eye closer, and closer still, until - until. 

Until the eye, surrounded by deformed bodies bulging like popped biles of puss from its fleshy cradle, was almost close enough to touch. Alfyn sucked in a sharp breath, knuckles growing white. He couldn’t tear his gaze away.

 _O, brave ones,_ it called in a voice too haunting to resemble anything human, 

_Do you seek truth?_ )


	2. the seductress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thank y’all so much for the support and feedback! I really do appreciate that you all are giving this fic attention; I will do my best for you all! with that said, here be chapter two - enjoy, and lemme know what you think!

The truck sputtered, grumbled, and reluctantly hummed back to life after months of a once-believed eternal respite. Alfyn fist-pumped and hopped off the driver’s seat, grinning at his reward for perseverance. Sure, Old Betsy needed some TLC, but she’d get some soon. He patted the truck’s hood as a thank you. Beneath the sun, the freshly washed mud dweller gave off a dim sparkle. He could finally read the worn bumper stickers, too: “Gone Fishing,” a peace symbol, and some obscure band he heard Mum listen to from time to time. Whistling, he walked around Betsy for a final check: working tail lights, closed truck bed, tires A-OK, and his mum’s favorite doohickey dangled off the rearview mirror. Maybe Betsy would be a junker to others, but to Alfyn, she was _perfect._

“Wow.” Zeph walked over and folded his arms across his chest, appraising the vehicle. “You actually got it to work?”

“Whaddaya mean? Of _course_ she was gonna work. You of little faith.” He nudged Zeph’s shoulder and laughed. Ever since Nina’s full recovery several days ago, the heavy air between them dissipated. Just yesterday she was challenging her friends to a rock hopping contest across the river - which Zeph put a quick end to. Springtime thaw was _not_ a good time to be playing chicken with Mother Nature’s currents.

Alfyn scratched the back of his head. Man. He was going to miss those familiar scenes. 

“You’re really gonna head off, aren’t you?” 

Zeph pointedly stared off toward the distance, hands now stuffed in his baggy jean’s pockets. He licked his lips and let out a reminiscent sigh. Alfyn understood. It was always, _always,_ Zeph _and_ Alfyn. Two peas in a pod, birds of a feather, companions in life’s canoe. When Alfyn proclaimed he wanted to study herbal medicines, Zeph was quick to follow (and maybe even surpass) him. When Zeph attempted college, Alfyn stumbled along after him (until they both dropped out). 

The hardest part of leaving home was leaving Zeph.

“I’m sorry,” he started, and Zeph shook his head while clicking his tongue.

“Don’t you even start.” He pushed Alfyn toward the truck. “You’ve been itchin’ to travel for some time now, I know it. Ever since…” He trailed off, then nodded. “You know. So don’t apologize for thinking you’re _disappointing_ me when I’m _happy_ for ya. But, before I lose you to the call of the wild, I have something for you.”

Zeph hefted his trusty satchel up off his shoulders and held it out to Alfyn, who gave him a bewildered stare in return.

“A little piece of home,” he said, smiling. “Just in case you ever get a little homesick.”

“Zeph, I…” He held the bag, thumb running over the wrinkled leather and makeshift patch Nina made. Swallowing hard, he looked up. “I can’t take--”

“Too bad, I have a strict ‘no return’ policy.” Zeph’s arms formed an “X.” “Besides, you’ve got no receipt. You have no choice _but_ to keep it.”

For once, Alfyn found himself at a loss for words. He already asked for so much from Zeph: keep the house clean(ish), check up on his regular patients, and ensure no one would get bitten by more snakes. And now receiving his most treasured momento? He squeezed the strap as his bottom lip quivered, tears threatening to breach his eyes at any moment. 

“Shucks,” he managed to hiccup out, wiping his face on his sleeve. “You’re way too good to me.”

“I could be saying the same thing about you!” Zeph gave a hearty laugh before glancing at Betsy. “Now, don’t let me keep you any longer. I want you to make it to the Cliftlands before the sun or the truck kicks the bucket. Last thing I wanna read in tomorrow’s paper is how you became Ratkin food. Got it?”

“Ratkin? C’mon. I’m sure the meat on my bones is at _least_ Condor-taste levels of quality.” He gently placed Zeph’s satchel onto the passenger’s seat and sat in the driver’s. This was it. Betsy rattled in urgency for Alfyn to hurry it up. He closed the door and rolled down the window, giving Zeph a thumbs up. “Thank you for everything. I mean it, y’know? I wouldn’t be able to leave without knowin’ you’re here to keep everyone safe.”

Zeph shrugged. “Well, I’ll certainly try. See you when you get back.”

_See you when you get back._ He said that all the time whenever Alfyn headed off somewhere, be it to gather more supplies or to hit the local tavern for a night on the town. It eased some of the lingering hesitance as Alfyn gripped the steering wheel. He gave Zeph one more grin.

“See you later, partner.”

***

Mum got Betsy back when Alfyn was around eight or nine year’s old. She scrounged up extra cash from her second job to get it used from some shady dealership. It needed work, but Mum knew her way around cars. She used to work for a car manufacturer before losing a leg in an accident. With a little tinkering and some elbow grease, Betsy hummed like the best of them, and Alfyn remembered many summer nights hanging out the driver’s side window as they drove to Saintsbridge Ave. Sometimes, she’d pull up to a flattened riverbank untouched by monsters, and they’d lay on the hood beneath the pitch black sky as she told him stories.

(“Once upon a time,” she began as she worked the persistent tangles out of Alfyn’s shrub-like hair, “the skies used to be filled with stars.”

“The guardians?” he asked.

“Aelfric's guardians, yeah. Long before now, there were so many of them that people like us could make shapes out of them. We called ‘em ‘constellations’.”)

Most kids grew out of listening to stories from their parents, but Alfyn always wanted to hear more. Mum never disappointed, either; in their escapades, she’d always have a new one to share. He couldn’t tell which ones she made up and which ones were derived from mythology, but he didn’t really care. Stories were stories, and he believed everyone had one to tell - big or small, he liked to hear them all. 

And Ol’ Betsy helped facilitate that love.

She wheezed up hills and panted down the winding valleys. Alfyn made sure to lay off the gas to give her breaks, and turned her off altogether come lunchtime. He munched on some gifted herbed bread and sugar snap peas while leaning on the front bumper, gaze idly watching the lazy stream. Not many people drove cars; many deemed it too risky with the influx of monsters, or their districts were just too environmentally hazardous to be worth the money. Most people walked or rode horses. If he didn’t have such an attachment to Betsy, he would’ve probably left her to rust in the driveway.

But his Mum’s spirit was in that truck, or so he firmly believed. He could hear her laughter from time to time.

He wiped the crumbs off his lips and put the cooler chock-full of food in the back seat where his books and other supplies resided. He had enough to last him a while yet, but he’d need to get some funds from somewhere to restock. Charging for his skills felt unethical, though. He scratched the back of his head and frowned. Why didn’t he think on that a little more _before_ leaving?

Oh well. He’d figure it out when it got to that point. Somehow. Maybe.

Betsy groaned back to life before meandering down the dirt and pothole-riddled street. The further he drove, the more the river tapered into a thinner, shallower shell of its former self. Many of its bigger branches broke off a handful of miles ago toward the ocean. Being so close to the river his whole life, when he finally arrived to the Cliftlands District, the dryness of it all startled Alfyn. 

He slowed Betsy and squinted out the window. Overhead, buzzards blotted the blue skies in an eerie circular motion, like a leaf caught in an eddy. Jagged cliff faces jutted upward with deathtrap valleys snaking down below. The road narrowed into one lane with no fences to stop him from hurdling to his impending demise. He swallowed hard, then shifted back to first gear. Last thing he wanted was to be turned into Alfyn Pudding.

Noon sank to afternoon. Clouds crept closer in the distance, a distinct rainy scent dampening the earlier arid dryness. Days still ended too early - he wished summer would come around soon. More importantly, he needed to find somewhere to hunker down quick before the road turned into a mudslide. The only signs of civilization thus far was a lone tent pitched in a clearing near district lines. 

The less people, the more monsters. Alfyn whispered a quick thanks to Dohter’s continued blessings before deciding to speed up a little. 

(“Dohter wasn’t always known as the _charitable,_ ” his mum recounted, her fingertips rapping against Betsy’s polished hood. “As a mortal, he grew up in a harsh place with harsher people, turning his heart cold as ice.”)

A sharp _crack_ interrupted Alfyn’s ill-timed and terribly foreboding thoughts. One of Betsy’s back tires refused to budge. He sighed, patted the steering wheel, and placed her into neutral before stepping outside. A chilly wind whipped up. He squatted down and frowned at the weird broken rock that ensnared Betsy’s tire. A peculiar ooze pooled around the rock’s carcass.

Wait. That wasn’t a rock at all. 

A grumbling accompanied the wind’s whistles, low at first but steadily growing louder. Goosebumps spread across his spine in a shiver, as if a million itty-bitty eyes stared at him. He hefted Betsy up by her back bumper enough to get the tire out - thank the gods he never skipped arm day - and pushed her forward a few inches. 

The avalanche of angered egg-shaped stones came shortly thereafter.

They cascaded down the red cliffside in waves, chittering in unintelligible clicks and hisses. Black sticks for arms assisted in propelling them faster, much to Alfyn’s distress. He scurried back into the truck and slammed on the gas pedal. If he moved a few seconds late, Betsy would’ve been swallowed whole and forced over the edge with the eggs. He let out a sharp exhale, nails digging into steering wheel. He glanced at his rearview mirror - the eggs flew off the cliff together with a few stragglers left to roll around in the road.

His gaze shifted back to the road as he sighed, only for immediate panic causing him to slam on the brakes. The bed careened toward the edge of the road. Alfyn recovered (albeit barely) before stopping Betsy altogether. He paused. He _knew_ that cat--

Linde’s tail flicked, blue eyes impassive. She licked her paw, then sauntered away toward another clearing carved out in the cliff face. A fire flickered in the cavern - and there sat H’annit, staring at his truck.

Alfyn pulled over and parked before giving her a casual, shaken wave.

“Howdy,” he said, “fancy seein’ you out here!” _Sorry for almost hitting your cat._

He watched her unperturbed expression shift into a calmer one. She returned her stare to the fire and resumed dragged an axe across a whetstone. A welcomed silence followed; Alfyn cast a nervous glance back toward the road, wondering if any of the monsters would follow. But the silence grew longer, and he let himself relax a little.

H’annit set her axe down a few moments later against the large log used as a makeshift chair before nodding her head in acknowledgement. “What hath broughten thee here?” Her nose wrinkled slightly at Betsy. 

“Oh, y’know. Got that itch to go sightseein’, so I figured taking a road trip would be kinda nice. ‘Cept I sure ain’t prepared for being turned into egg salad like I almost was before getting here.” He jabbed a thumb toward the incident.

“Thy haven a knack for trouble,” she replied, scratching underneath Linde’s muzzle. She gestured across the fire, as if offering him a spot to sit. He willingly accepted and stretched out his legs across the sparse grass patches on the cavern floor.

“Didja find what you were looking for?” he asked.

H’annit gave one solemn shake of her head while offering Linde some dried meat.

“Oh,” he said lamely. He reached into his bag and pulled out an energy bar for something to munch on. All that danger in the span of fifteen minutes really revved up his appetite. 

“Tonight, we,” she motioned toward Linde, “art staken out for our prey.”

Rain began to fall. “Shucks, a rough night to be doing that, don’t you think?”

She shook her head. “Nay. I wilt finish this tonight. I hath other matters to attenden.”

“Do you need help?”

Her mouth opened, then immediately closed in thought. Linde stretched and settled close to the fire, keeping one eye open.

“I mean, I still ain’t properly thanked you for saving me several days ago. Safety in numbers and all that.” 

He could see a myriad of uninterpretive thoughts flash behind those cool eyes of hers, as if sizing him up. She probably doubted his fighting prowess - not that he could blame her. He had a terrible first impression, almost getting eaten as he did.

But that was then. He gave a reassuring grin. “Trust me, us country folk are a lot scruffier than we look. I know my way ‘round an axe, and it’s not like I ain’t got my fair share of magic, too. Just give me a shot, an’ if you say I ain’t worth the trouble? No hard feelings.”

Of course, Zeph always excelled in magic compared to Alfyn, but she didn’t need to know that yet. The idea of her fighting alone against monster, with a cat or not, made him a bit uneasy - especially after those eggs attacking him. Who knew how many monsters they had in number out here? H’annit’s eyebrows quirked before giving a slow, acquiescent nod.

“Aye,” she said. “I trusten thee well enough.”

“Great. Want a salmon sandwich? I got some in my cooler, if ya want.”

“Nay. I hath already feasten, but I thanken thee.”

H’annit wasn’t much of a talker, aside from their discussions about tactics for later in the evening - but Alfyn happily obliged in providing background chatter to whittle the time away. Her small nods and hums of acknowledgement helped him keep prattling along as he ate dinner.

“I ain’t ever realized how _big_ Orsterra was.” He gazed outside, watching the rain pelt the mud coating Betsy. “Took me all day just to get to the outskirts of the Cliftlands - I mean, sure, I ain’t ever went beyond the speed limit, but still. At this rate, could take me forever to see the whole place.” He paused and scratched his chin. “Ya ever think this city’s more than, well, a city? Seems like a whole continent to me, but I ain’t ever really left the Riverlands before.”

“Legend in the Woodlands speaketh of this land once being a kingdom united.” H’annit rose to her feet. Her weapons looked polished to a frightening perfection. “Losten to time, it becameth the city it is now.”

“Mum told me it just belonged to the gods for a long-ass time. Maybe it was a kingdom for the gods?”

H’annit shrugged. “Thy knowledge usurpen mine own. I caren not for fairy tales - only for that I see in front of me.”

She scooped up a pile of dirt and snuffed the fire, leaving smoke to drift up to the ceiling. Alfyn started to speak, but she held up a hand to silence him. So the hunt began. The terrain, oozing with mud puddles and slippery rock spires, gave them a handful of disadvantages. Still, H’annit appeared calm and in control - as if she _wanted_ this rain. She stepped out into it, fur coats drenched in the matter of seconds, but her footfalls fell silent to Alfyn’s ears. He followed moments later, trying to be as quiet as her.

_Human they looke,_ she had said, _but stronger and quicker they be._

_How many?_

_The rumors speaken of many, but I looken for a mere one._

Her tone carried such gravity that even _one_ was enough to make her on-edge. For someone so collected, it spoke of how strong even one could be. Worse yet, what if she got it wrong and attacked a normal human? He doubted that would happen, but to think such creatures wearing the faces of men could mingle so easily among the masses - he could only imagine what they were capable of underneath.

He shivered, and pulled up his jacket’s hood. Good thing he had half a mind to bring one. It narrowed his visibility slightly on both sides, however. His grip tightened around the borrowed axe’s shaft. 

H’annit stilled. Linde _murbled_ in warning, fur bristling around the edges and her tail jutting straight into the air. Alfyn turned around, gaze flitting about from dark shape to darker shape for any sign of movement. 

“It is here,” she warned in a nearly drowned-out mutter.

Pebbles toppled from above, scattering beside Alfyn’s boots. He gulped.

The personification of unabated fury slammed into his gullet a mere second later.

All air escaping his lungs. Another second, and a hand squeezed at his neck as he pressed the shaft of his axe against his assailant’s.

_“You,”_ a raspy voice hissed, nails drawing blood, “are a _fool_ if you think you could have just slowed down and _think_ I would never find you. You should have fled north for a few extra days of your precious life.”

“Unhanden him.” H’annit’s voice pierced the downpour. 

“If you had half a mind, you would think twice about helping this man.” Through the rage, Alfyn detected a palpable grief laced within the woman’s aggravation. “He is worse than the scum beneath your heel, traveler.”

Alfyn struggled to cough. “I… Have we… met?” Had he scorned someone so badly they would want to murder him? Sure, maybe he got a little more rowdy after six tankards of ale in him, but he never imagined himself to become some total asshole worthy to be deemed as “scum.”

Something changed in her demeanor almost immediately. The hand slackened around his neck, as if surprised, before pulling down his sleeve. She inspected it, and her eyes widened. A moment later, and she backpedaled, giving him ample space. She held up one hand, a sheepish and mildly horrified laugh escaping her lips, before clearing her throat.

“I… Apologies.” The tightness in her tone didn’t go entirely unnoticed. “I must have made a mistake. That hood looked just like…”

H’annit’s bow lowered, and she withdrew the arrow in the nock. Linde, however, remained prepared to leap at moment’s notice just in case.

This must not have been the target in mind.

“A black hood?” H’annit inquired.

The woman’s shoulders hunched, arms folding across her chest. She peered H’annit up and down, expression unreadable. “And if it is?”

“Then we hunten for the same prey.”

A beat passed; Alfyn pushed himself to sit up, rubbing at his neck. For someone so slender that lady had incredible strength. If it wasn’t for the axe, he would’ve probably died in an instant. The woman pushed her long, matted hair over her shoulder, exposing freshly healed wounds along her shoulders. In the faintest light, she appeared paler than any of Alfyn’s previous patients. 

“You okay?” He took one step forward, and she took one step back, squeezing her arms closer to her midsection. 

“I’m fine. I take it you haven’t seen anyone else come through here, then.”

Both he and H’annit shook their heads. The woman spat at the ground, heel digging into the mud. She ground her teeth together and muttered curses under her breath. Then, like a spring shower, her foul mood all but evaporated, replaced with a startlingly sunny disposition. All smiles, but none true. It sent chills down his spine.

“I apologize for my, ah, _unfriendly_ introduction.” She extended a hand toward them. “I am Primrose, a dancer from Sunlands. How very _wonderful_ to meet you two. I don’t think I’ve spotted another soul since I arrived here.”

Were the Cliftlands so barren, then? Not that Alfyn could fault anybody for not wanting to live there. Aside from rocks, rocks, and more rocks, the landscape hardly changed, and none of the soil appeared healthy enough for any sort of farming. But there had to be _some_ people, right? All maps he poured over said there was a road off the beaten path called Borderfall at the very least. 

“Tis the mating season for the Condors. Nary an intelligent soul wanderen through here, should they knowen better.” H’annit’s gaze shifted to Alfyn, who gave a sheepish laugh. “I am H’annit.”

“Alfyn,” he followed up, taking Primrose’s ice-cold hand and giving it a firm shake. Frigid, like late frost. Her grip matched his own, revealing the extent of her training in her profession. He glanced back at H’annit. “Well, since she ain’t seen him, and we haven’t seen him, I say tonight’s a bust. What say we find civilization and regroup somewhere, like an inn?” 

“Thy suggestion hath merit.” H’annit nodded once, and then turned her attention toward Primrose, who straightened her back. “Thou hath knowledge of the man I seeke.”

“So you want me to come with and tell you what I know.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, rapping her fingers along her bicep. Another silence stretched on too long to be comfortable. “Fine, I’ll share,” she said at last. “But let me make it clear that it’s going to be _my_ dagger that ends the fucker’s life.”

That line told a thousand different tales, none of them happy or pleasant. “I gotta truck we can take,” Alfyn interjected, jabbing his thumb to Old Betsy. “At least lemme get y’all out of the rain for the night. If, uh, any of you know where Bolderfall is.”

Squeezing in three soaked people proved a bit harder than he thought. H’annit claimed shotgun, and Primrose wedged herself into the middle seat between all of Alfyn’s supplies. Linde lounged in the truck bed, her ears twitching in the rearview mirror. He thought nothing of it and grinned at her tail flicking back and forth like a windshield wiper against the window. The rain tapered off into a faint drizzle, the moon occasionally peeking from behind the clouds. Nice night for a drive. Minus the monsters.

“So.”

Neither of his passengers took the opening bait. Tough crowd. He relaxed in his seat, rocking with the truck with every struck pothole. He glanced at H’annit, who’s stare persisted out the window. Then he looked to the rearview mirror, mouth open to ask about her story, only to slam on the brakes. Everyone lurched forward - Linde snarled from her nap - as Alfyn whipped his head back.

Sure enough, Primrose was still in his back seat, appearing baffled and irritated at the sudden stop. “What?”

H’annit appeared equally perplexed, cocking an eyebrow at him. He turned, slowly, back to the rearview mirror, where Linde’s blue eyes met his. 

Not Primrose’s. 

Primrose, who according to all laws of physics, should be reflected in the glass smack-dab in the center, yet the only evidence of her existence was the wrinkles indicating weight in the old leather seats. It was as if a phantom sat behind them, not a human. A ghostly chill clammed up his hands, recalling when he shook hers.

“What?” she asked again, crossing her legs.

But he touched her. She couldn’t be a ghost. She had a physical form, if the bruises forming along his midsection from their meeting proved anything. Pale moonlight glimpsed into the back seat, and, for a moment, Primrose’s inviting and warm eyes flashed a splash of crimson.

He blinked, and it vanished. 

_Eyes red, like…_

“Nothing,” he said, getting Betsy back into gear. He wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he hit his head a little hard after their encounter. Besides, if she was one of those monsters, she would’ve killed them by now, right? He shrugged. “Mind’s messin’ with me from being tired, is all.”

No one in the truck believed him, least of all himself. Thankfully, no one called him out on it. The silence returned, leaving Alfyn to his own paranoid thoughts. He frowned and turned on the radio, which belted out some guitar serenade over tinny speakers.

_“Darling, baby, please,_ ” the singer lamented, _“don’t ask me how - please don’t ask me why right now.”_


End file.
